


Brilliant (Drunken) Ideas

by cimberelly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Drunkenness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimberelly/pseuds/cimberelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A typical drinking night with the Bad Touch Trio and England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brilliant (Drunken) Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas gift fic for my friend Mango. It's... drunken shenanigans. Just like how I like my Bad Touch Trio + England.

It was around round... 12? 13? None of them could really keep count anymore, but it was around this time, two or three rounds before England started taking off his clothes, when they started talking about Stupid Things We Should Do. It was never really something that they planned. Like most brilliant (drunken) ideas, they came out of nowhere, usually inspired by the bottom of an empty glass and before they called for the next round. It just happened and just like the title of the event suggested, what they came up with were really. Really. Stupid.

“We should TP the Vatican.” Spain murmured as if enlightened, staring glassy eyed at particularly nothing as he nursed his glass of wine. French wine, France insisted. “Romano would hate me, and Prusia too, because he would do it with me, but I think we should do it.”

The snort that came from his side even sounded a bit slurred. And to think Prussia bragged regularly about how he was incapable of getting drunk anymore. “You sure y’could take Romano being mad at you for more than a few hoursh?” Another snort and Prussia hit Spain on his shoulder, making the Spaniard whine and fall sideways. Slowly. “I fucking doubt it. I FUCKING DOUBT IT!” The white-haired ex-Nation followed up his declaration with standing abruptly, hands in the air like he was proclaiming an unholy truth. It was met with a good dose of non-reaction from the bar’s other drunken patrons.

“Si’ down.” And that was England who reached forward and caught Prussia by his belt loop so he could, yes, sit down. England had this thing where he slowly lost his usual crisp, proper accent the more he got drunk. He also started to slowly lose any kind of sense he had, which could now be clearly seen with how he giggled while he held on to Prussia and started swaying from side to side, “Si’ down, si’ down yer rockin’ the boat~”

Prussia slapped his hand off and England just giggled and sang some more.

A sigh came from the other side. “There he goes.” France observed with almost a pitying look on his face as he watched England sing to himself but then got distracted by Spain who was leaning over his shoulder. A manicured hand lifted and started petting the dazed-looking Iberian Nation. “There, there Espagne, your Francia is here...”

“Romano got mad at me, Francia...” Spain wibbled rather pathetically, tears welling in his eyes, which just made France coo some more.

“I know, Espagne, I know.” The petting soon turned into a kiss on the head and then as most things with France, it progressed to less innocent touches, especially since this was Spain. Someone seemed offended about it, though.

“Shtop that.”

“Prusse!”

Prussia ignored the affronted look he got from France after he slapped him up the head. He was still standing, thank you very much. Kind of swaying, sure, but he was still standing. He was the only one standing and everyone better damn well listen to what he had to say.

“We should steal West’sh car and—“

“We did that a few months ago.” Spain reminded him morosely, helpfully from France’s shoulder. 

“And did you regain your license?” France sounded like he was just genuinely curious and concerned. It was probably fake. Prussia was distracted from replying by another untimely interruption.

“Give me back my fairy table, you sodding berk!” cried England suddenly from the side, now free from Prussia’s belt loop and looking at them like he might start crying.

Prussia held no sympathy for him. He’s immune to crying Englishmen and yet he answered him rather honestly about the last prank they pulled on England.

“Spanien’s got it.”

And with that England tackled Prussia to get at Spain, trying to pummel him. Cracking France’s nose too didn’t seem like a part of his agenda, but it was a pretty sweet deal as well, as far as England was concerned.

~*~

Fifteenth round. It was a new record for them winding up on their asses outside the bar after being thrown out for violent misbehaviour courtesy of one drunk and emotional Englishman.

“Ye miserable trio of twats.” England groused, head down on the pavement but turned to the side so he can yell viciously at the so-called miserable trio of twats.

Prussia rubbed at his head, trying to get the trash out. He groaned as his hand comes off with what feels like vomit. “Fistful of dicks also sound good...”

“S’yer fault! All o’ it!”

“My mose! I’b bleebing!” And indeed, France was bleeding, also crying. The tears were probably fake, too. Maybe. Thank goodness Spain had gotten sober enough to give his usual brand of affectionate comfort. He was hugging France and petting his hair much like France was doing with him earlier. Of course France clung pathetically to him, milking it for all it was worth.

“There, there Francia..." Spain soothed, arms around France. The Frenchman whimpered in reply and Spain hugged him closer. "You'll be all-- Are your hands cold? They’re in so deep in my pants... Oh, they are cold!”

...

“You should do porn.” The drunkard on the ground suggested rather brilliantly. England still somehow refused to get up. The ground must be pretty comfortable.”Somefink fucked up and disgraceful. ‘m sure ‘at Kraut’ll have lots uv ideas for you--! Fuck! Why you--!”

A squashed up soda can was just lodged at England's head. “No inshulting West’s porn. Only I’m allowed to inshult his weirdass porn!” The drunker Prussia gets, the more he gets violent.

“Porn...” France’s tone was thoughtful. “I’b like a doptor’s opis scenario. P’uss cou’ be th’ patien’, ‘Spagne ze doctor an’ I’ll be the nurthe!...” A pause. ” I ‘ound ‘orrible!”

“No’ more than usual ye don’...” England put in helpfully as he finally started pulling himself up to stand.

Spain took his cue and started getting up too, assisting France who was still clinging to him tearfully. “We should get ice for your nose, Francia." He tells his friend with a warm, comforting smile. "We should also get up, yes? It’s dirty here...”

France had no choice but to go along, sighing sadly. “...Oui.”

“Let’s go~ I’ll hold your hands so they won’t get cold, okay?” The Spaniard is far too cheerful sober.

“...All righ’...” France looked too sad about the thought of getting up. Spain helping him didn’t even seem to comfort him one bit. He put a hand deep into Spain's back pocket.

The sight made Prussia’s eyebrow twitch. “...Frankreich, I shwear to fucking God--”

“...’Still want my table back.”

The albino stared after England who just shoved beside him, trailing a papertowel stuck to the underside of his shoe. Prussia was not impressed. “...Could you just start fucking cryin’ over America or runnin’ around naked now? Fuck, whada whiner...”


End file.
